Fatal Attractions
by LotRia
Summary: "I procure unique items for a select clientele." A simple hunt comes back to haunt the Winchester boys in ways they never imagined. Includes hurt/kidnapped!Sam and worried/protective!Dean & Bobby. Currently rated T but there is a possibility it will go up to M as the story progresses - please read warnings at the beginning of each chapter. Feedback is always appreciated.
1. The Screaming Skull

**Fatal Attractions**

By Ria

Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.

A/N: This chapter takes place in Season 2 between 'Heart' and 'Folsom Prison Blues' and can be read as a one-shot, short-story ghost hunt. Think of it as part one or the prequel to the full story. The story is posting in two parts – the first being this chapter, and the second being multi-chaptered. I will not begin posting part 2 until it is fully written.

Background/Inspiration: This story was inspired by an Animal Planet series known as Fatal Attractions – for those who aren't AP junkies like myself, this show is about the psychology behind people who seek ownership over exotic, dangerous animals and how their obsessions ultimately lead to their downfall – and Bela's conversation with Dean in 'Bad Day at Black Rock.'

"I procure unique items for a select clientele…"

Ratings/Warnings: Due mostly to Dean's mouth, this chapter is rated T. Overall, this chapter is pretty light-hearted and does work as a one-shot, so please enjoy it for what it is. It is likely that future chapters will be rated M for language and some controversial subject matter – it will get dark, so please check the warnings on following chapters to make sure it is content you are comfortable reading.

Special THANK YOU to Beaignu for assisting as my beta.

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Chapter One: **The Screaming Skull**

Spring 2007; Near Baker City, Oregon

A soft grip on his left shoulder shook Sam from his nap. He blinked sleepily, not quite ready to move his head away from the cool glass of the window.

"Up and at 'em, Princess. We're almost there." Dean's over-enthusiastic tone was irritating to Sam's half asleep mind, and he scowled in response to the insult, not bothering with a retort.

Sam straightened out from his curled position against the door and glanced at the scenery flashing by the passenger side of the Impala. The sight greeting him was a marbled mosaic of green hues painted by the thick covering of ponderosa pines blanketing the Elkhorn Mountain Range. Low stratus clouds hung heavy over the trees and weaved around the hills and mountain peaks. The atmosphere was still overcast and dreary, but at least the drizzle had stopped since they drove across the state line five hours ago.

Dean grabbed the creased map from the middle seat and pressed it against the steering wheel. The Impala's speed slowed as he kept a sharp lookout for a dirt lane at the right side of the road. The pavement curved left, and the underbrush crowding the roadside cleared to reveal a dirt path. It appeared so suddenly that Dean would have completely missed the turn had he been going faster. Even at his current speed, he had to brake hard.

Sam braced a hand against the dash as the abrupt stop jerked him forward. They were cautioned that the drive would not have any markers, but he had expected something to be there — a small mailbox or post at the least, but there really was no warning. The surrounding forest crept right up to the narrow dirt path and tree limbs criss-crossed above, blocking out much of the light and creating a claustrophobic, uneasy ambiance.

A good mile or so down the drive, the wooded area opened to a large expanse of clean-cut lawn with neatly trimmed hedges defining the lane. The Impala passed between two broad ornamental brick pillars, and the front of a large Victorian mansion appeared.

Dean pulled around the circle drive and parked to the right of the large double-door entrance while Sam leaned forward to survey the high bay and dormer windows dotting the second story between tall and widely-spaced turrets. The architecture of the old building was quite impressive — the brick and stone walls had clearly survived several generations without any exterior renovations. The entry was a concrete slab with a large, foreboding stone gargoyle placed on each side of the wide doorway.

"Shall we?" Dean cocked his head to the side, motioning toward the door. The Impala rocked as they each stepped out, and Dean slammed his door shut. Sam stayed still for a moment, scrutinizing the house and grounds. He shot Dean a skeptical look over the roof of the car as he closed his door.

"Are you sure about this Dean? Something feels off about this place." Sam stated, warily eying the grounds.

"You're kidding, right? We risk our lives hunting scary shit on a daily basis for nothing, and you want to back out on a job with a paycheck?" He replied, staring back at his brother incredulously.

"I don't know, man…" Sam shrugged and looked from Dean to the ominous dark wooden doors, "It's just a bad feeling, in my gut."

"Well tell your gut to grow a pair. It's a poltergeist — a simple salt and burn or house cleansing. We'll be up five grand by the end of the day."

Dean ignored Sam's sour gaze and continued to the doors. Despite his growing trepidation, Sam followed after his brother, hoping this job would be over as quick as Dean seemed to think.

Dean was about to rap his knuckles on the door when the heavy wood creaked and swung back, creating a gap of a few inches. A shadowed figure tall enough to look down on Sam appeared in the entry way.

"Names?" The voice was deep and nasally.

"Uh… Dean and Sam Winchester. We called yesterday. About the want-ad." Dean answered calmly, but kept his right hand resting against the grip of a Desert Eagle .44 tucked in the back waistband of his jeans.

There was a short pause before the door swung back the rest of the way. The man motioned the boys in with his long, thick arm and held the door while they entered. Sam watched the man warily — not only was he several inches taller, he was also a lot bulkier than either of the brothers. A tattoo inched it's way up the side of the man's neck, barely visible on his dark skin. His somber eyes watched the the boys intently.

"You got a name or should we just go with tall, dark, and Lurch-like?" Dean remarked.

Tattoo-guy closed the door behind them. Without the fresh mountain air, a musty smell settled heavily on the foyer along with an unsettling gloom. The tall man huffed at Dean's comment, "Max."

Sam glanced around in the dim light. A spiraled staircase looped up to the second floor, and there were three shadowed halls spaced around them leading off to different wings. In the low lighting, it was difficult to see details; but there were outlines of various paintings and sculptures spaced out along the walls. Sam jumped slightly when a throaty cough pulled him from his observations.

"This way." Max commented and started down a hall to their left. Sam quickly caught up to Dean and they followed the man through the shadows.

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Dr. Lucas Pryor scrutinized the two boys from across his work desk as he tapped the eraser end of a #2 pencil against the oak surface. He was not quite sure what to make of the two boys, both slouched slightly in his cushiony leather chairs. The one to his right had an aggressive, annoying air of confidence and wore a grungy leather jacket, giving him the appearance of a biker punk. The other kid looked like a college drop-out with his shaggy brown locks and worn Stanford hoodie, but there was something incredibly trustworthy about him. The doctor was curious about the pair but maintained his cold stare. He was polar opposite of both boys with his neatly trimmed blonde hair and pressed suit – all business in his seriously set jaw line. After a few minutes, he broke the silence. "So you… gentlemen, hunt ghosts?"

"Yes sir," the cocky one answered, "and anything else that goes bump in the night. We're the real Ghostbusters – minus the tacky, cream-colored jumpsuits, of course." Dean's grin was not matched by the man across the desk.

"Clearly." Was the dry response from Dr. Pryor, his blue eyes narrowed slightly. "It would seem uniforms are out of the question."

Dean bristled, ready to retort the insinuating comment, but a hand pressing against his shoulder stopped him as Sam jumped into the conversation.

"Look," Sam started, "I know we probably aren't what you pictured when you requested professional assistance in your ad, but we know what we're doing." Feeling Dean relax, Sam moved his arm back to rest against the side of the chair as he leaned forward. "We can handle this quickly and without unwanted attention from neighbors or media." Based on the secrecy and sparse information provided in the ad, Sam guessed that the wealthy man was trying to avoid any public interest.

"I do value my privacy." Dr. Pryor nodded in agreement and was impressed this kid could read him so well. Having initially brushed the two boys off as drifters when they first appeared in his office and dropped into his expensive furniture, he now found himself somewhat intrigued. After a moment, he continued, "Well, I've got no references for either of you, and prior to handing out a large sum of cash for this job, I do feel an interview is appropriate."

Sam nodded; the request was uncommon in their line of work, but not unreasonable. He glanced at Dean, whose slack-jawed look was priceless – his brother had never seriously interviewed for anything in his life. Dean recovered from his momentary surprise and refuted, "You know Doc, in our line of work, we don't really do caring and sharing. In fact, you're probably better off not knowing our history."

"Dean," Sam hissed and shifted his long leg over to mash his heel into the top of Dean's boot. Dean cringed at the unexpected contact and locked indignant eyes with Sam as he finished, "you were the one who insisted we take this job. Just shut up and cooperate."

Dr. Pryor chuckled at the interaction, causing both boys to focus on him for the moment. He maintained a professional appearance but some of the steel had left his eyes. "My apologies, gentlemen, it would seem I just experienced a moment of déjà vu. My ex and I used to bicker in a similar fashion. Forgive me if this is too forward, but how long have the two of you been together?"

Dean balked at the inquiry. Sam leaned back in the chair with an embarrassed grin accented by the redness on his cheeks. Why was that always the assumption? Dean recovered first and growled, "Since Sam was born."

"Oh… OH, I'm sorry. I just thought, well, you two were a couple – like more than just a work partnership." Dr. Pryor rushed his words, but his eyes were looking intently at Sam, surveying his response. Sam shrunk further down in the seat and fidgeted uncomfortably under the older man's gaze. An interestingly shaped stain on the beige carpet had captured his focus, giving him a reason not to lock eyes with the doctor.

"We're brothers." Dean clarified, also uncomfortable with the Doc's attention fixated on Sam. There was something deeply predatory about the intense look that gave Dean a demanding urge to just scrap this job and walk out now.

"My apologies." Lucas leaned forward and turned a frame on his desk in the boys' direction. "This is Benjamin. When we were together we would bicker, and the moment just took me back. Some days I really miss him." The doctor admitted, his secretive demeanor temporarily lifted.

Sam and Dean both leaned forward a bit to get a clear look at the photo. It featured a more youthful Dr. Pryor and a younger man, probably in his early twenties, arms locked together with genuine smiles. Dean arched an eyebrow at Ben's features. Although younger, he was a bit taller than the Doc and had feathery light brown hair. His physical features and bone structure actually held a strong resemblance to Sam. Dean glanced back at his brother and knew by Sam's expression and slightly widened eyes that he had made the same connection.

"So, um," Sam cleared his throat, "you guys look so happy. What happened to Ben?"

"That, Samuel, is not a topic I am comfortable with." He turned the photo back toward his side of the desk. "Besides, this is your interview." He leaned back and resumed tapping his pencil - business only countenance back in place. "What got you in to this line of work?"

"That, Lucas, is not a topic we are comfortable with." Dean shot back, annoyed by this whole conversation and the false pleasantries. They were here to do a job, get paid, and put this place in their rearview.

"Dean." Sam scolded sharply and turned back to the doctor. "Forgive my brother, but it's a touchy subject for us. Our dad started hunting the supernatural when we were really young, so we've trained for this type of work our entire lives. This is pretty much all we do."

Dr. Pryor could feel the honesty behind Sam's words, but there was also a deep sadness in his hazel eyes. As much as Luke wanted to pry, he held his tongue on the subject and went with another question. "So how do you make a living in this business? I don't really see much profit in it."

Sam smirked, "Well, we usually don't get paid for the work we do. We just look for patterns in newspapers, online… when we see something unexplainable and violent, we investigate and stop it." Sam shrugged and slouched. "I suppose the reward is knowing that we save people. It doesn't have a monetary value. Paid jobs like this are rare for us, but every little bit of income helps."

Luke took a brief glance at Dean. The older boy was definitely on the defensive, sitting back with his arms crossed over his chest, and the scowl painting his face was clearly directed at his brother for revealing even that small bit of their lives to a stranger. Dean's sharp green eyes moved to meet the doctor's, and Luke quickly turned his attention back to Sam.

Dean watched Dr. Pryor as the older man smiled toward his brother. Dean found himself imagining fangs in the wolfish grin and how fitting it would be if the Doc was the supernatural thing needing to be killed.

"Alright," Lucas conceded, satisfied with the small amount of background he'd obtained. "Let's talk business." He slid his thin reading glasses on and looked down to the paperwork in front of him. "Here are the logs for items that have recently come into my possession. I think it's likely that the odd activity is tied up with one of them."

Sam shuffled through the thin stack of ledgers, skimming through the descriptions of each purchase. Not only was each appraisal for a high-valued antique, but all of them were associated with a variety of supernatural legends and lore. Sam handed the papers over to Dean and looked up to the doctor, a deep-seated confusion in his eyes. "Why would you have all these items? Based on their similarities, I'm sure you are aware of their evil and dangerous reputations."

"I collect all kinds of occult items – have for years – and these are my most recent artifacts. I placed them in the East Wing a couple weeks ago, and the God-awful racket hasn't ceased since."

"You mean there is more of this stuff? Some of these items are inherently evil. You understand that, right?" Sam prodded, trying to understand why someone would want any of these distasteful objects in their home.

"I always take all the proper precautions before bringing them into the house. I've read up on their histories fully and use binding sigils and lock boxes on the more dangerous pieces. Whatever has been stirred up in that room, had to have come in with the eight items in my last shipment. There were no problems prior to their arrival."

Sam slouched back in his chair, trying to grasp his head around the concept of collecting evil. It was then that he noticed the doctor's gaze roving over him again, and he shifted uncomfortably in response.

"You really should sit up straight, Sam." Dr. Pryor stated with a slight smile, an odd brightness in his blue eyes.

"Hey Doc," Dean interrupted, drawing the man's focus in his direction, "these items aren't anything to play around with, precautions or not. I think the safest solution would be to salt and burn the entire collection – maybe even the house."

The doctor looked aggravated and insulted by Dean's suggestion as he shot up from his chair. "How dare you make such an outlandish suggestion. Willpower is key. Doesn't matter how dangerous, any power can be contained through strict discipline and control." Dr. Pryor took a deep breath and set down the two halves of pencil he had snapped during his brief tirade. "I'm paying you to take care of the issue, not to torch everything I own."

There was an intense moment of silence. The soft ticking of a wall clock seemed to increase in volume as the second hand hit each increment.

"So um, Dr. Pryor. What sort of activity has been happening?" Sam asked, breaking the tension — always the peacekeeper. "Maybe we can narrow down which item is causing the disturbance. Once that object is removed, you shouldn't have anymore issues."

"Well, it's mostly the noise. Screaming and moaning at various hours. I can hear it in every room of the house. When I enter the East Wing, sometimes the wall decorations will rattle and electric items switch on and off frequently..."

"Okay, so based on the profile for these artifacts, I'm going to guess it's probably the skull." Sam reasoned and pulled that ledger out of the stack. "There are legends surrounding screaming skulls, most of which come out of England. This skull happens to be from Agnes Hall in Yorkshire which fits the profile. The activity you described can be typical of most angry spirits, but few of them are able to vocalize. The skulls supposedly 'scream' because they have been moved from their designated or preferred resting place... usually without the rest of the body."

"So let me guess." Dean jumped in, leaning forward and speaking directly to Sam. "Doctor do-good over here probably disturbed the remains when he decided to add the skull to his collection. Now our options are either to take the skull back to its resting place or salt and burn it."

"If a salt and burn will even work." Sam followed. "We wouldn't have access to the full corpse to put the spirit to rest. We might just end up creating a flaming, screaming skull." Dean chuckled and Dr. Pryor rolled his eyes. "Ideally, you may just want to fly this back to Agnes Hall – hopefully get a refund from the seller."

"Don't think that will be possible. Most of these transactions are nonrefundable and one of a kind. I really don't want to part with any of them."

"Well, then you will just have to find a way to live with the screaming." Came Dean's snarky reply. "I suggest headphones." He stretched, placing both hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair.

"I don't appreciate your tone, young man. If that's the best solution you can come up with, we can just forget our business arrangement, and you can be on your way." The doctor ran a hand through his short straight hair, frustrated by the opposition Dean was giving him. He walked over to the window and stared out at the landscape a moment before turning back. "I'm a psychologist. I spend most of my office hours in an asylum where shrieking, screaming, moans, and groans fill the halls. When I'm at home, I need absolute silence. That skull wasn't cheap either, so I don't find plotting for its destruction amusing." His accusing tone was directed at Dean.

"Well," Sam interjected. "We could try a lock box. Maybe if we can get some sound proof material, we could contain both the power and the noise."

Dr. Pryor looked back to Sam and smiled genuinely. "I like your thinking, Sam. Let's go with that option. I've got some sound proof glass casing — might be a little large, but it should work nicely. I will have Max bring it up from storage, and then we can head over to the East Wing."

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After a quick stop at the Impala for supplies — a couple sawed-offs, some iron and rock-salt rounds, holy bottled water, and a silver bullet on the off chance Dean's wolfy suspicions about the doctor were on target — the boys found themselves in a musty hallway looking at a large, dark paneled door.

"As a security precaution," Dr. Pryor began, "this entrance is the only access to the East Wing. The interior is completely cut off from the rest of the manor. Prior to starting my collection, I had envisioned a large library so the space is completely open with shelves and display cases lining the walls. There is a curved stairway to allow access to the upper balcony and the lower level. As I stated earlier, the artifacts within this wing are extremely valuable, so I will be cutting any unnecessary damages from your pay." He finished sternly and looked pointedly at Dean.

Dean responded with a cheeky look of innocence, already planning to use the loosest possible meaning of necessary. He was ready to begin the job and even more ready to be done, so they could put this place and the all too creepy doctor in the past. "So, I take it you won't be tagging along?"

"No, there are other… activities I must attend to; and the last few times I entered the room, I noticed this particular spirit does have some violent tendencies. Besides, I'm paying you to take care of this, so I would expect you to be professional and handle it without constant supervision."

Sam anticipated a sarcastic remark from his brother and jumped in to respond. "Don't worry, we'll take care of this quickly."

Dr. Pryor was quiet for a moment, casting an appraising look over Sam and a distasteful glance at Dean, before he nodded and turned to leave.

Dean growled slightly at the retreating form and looked at his brother while turning to open the door. "Violent tendencies, huh. Would have been nice if he'd mentioned that earlier." The heavy door groaned open as the boys let themselves in as quietly as possible and quickly closed it. Everything was still.

Sam looked beyond Dean as they entered the massive room and let out a deep breath. Although the center area was open, the outer walls were packed with all kinds of relics. It was comparable to stepping into the page of a 'Where's Waldo' book. "Would have been nice if he had told us where the skull is."

Dean had wandered several feet ahead and his mind was also working to take in the unfamiliar setting. Having fought the supernatural on a nearly daily basis for most of his life, Dean wasn't rattled by much anymore; but he found himself momentarily overwhelmed by the quantity of deadly objects surrounding him and Sam. He sensed his little brother moving toward him and mumbled, "You were right Sammy, this place... that guy, just creepy."

"Now who needs to grow a pair?" Sam earned himself an elbow in the gut from Dean. "Jerk." He snipped.

"Shut up, Bitch. Let's just do this and get the Hell out of Dodge." As Dean's sight moved toward the stairs, he noticed a tall, empty glass case that had been hefted up onto a sturdy table. Attached to one pane was a white sheet of paper labeled 'Screaming Skull' in thick black letters. "I suppose that's where he wants it. Now, where is that creepy dead thing?"

Sam lifted his sawed-off slightly, anticipating some form of spirit activity as he and his brother advanced toward the displays. Nothing happened.

They both approached a bookshelf full of trinkets. Although the electrical light source to the room was off, the massive picture windows lining the the south and east walls, provided plenty of light for them to make out the objects. Most were jewelry — pendants and lockets, earrings, bracelets, and rings — and there were also several stones and small animal parts, some attached to key rings. Unfortunately, no skull.

Wanting to be done quickly, Dean gestured at Sam to head left as he started moving toward the table on his right. The idea being to split up and survey the exterior of the room faster.

Sam complied and moved to a table covered with daggers and smaller blades, some of which had been encased in glass with binding sigils etched into the panes. A rapier at the back immediately captured his attention. It looked to be made of crystal and seemed to pulsate with a blue glow. He was suddenly disappointed that they wouldn't be able to spend much time here — the immeasurable amount of knowledge they could gain from these items would be extremely beneficial to the hunting community.

Dean was circling around quickly, not giving a second glance to anything that wasn't white and melon-sized. The quietness of the room was almost alarming and the absence of an EMF meter wasn't helping his nerves — although, odds were it wouldn't be able to differentiate the activity from just one object in a room full of spiritually charged items.

It took close to an hour to sort through all the bookshelves, tables, displays, and shadowed corners before the main level had been covered. Sam had found nothing resembling human bones and arrived back at the main door. On the other side of the door was just a short distance of empty space leading to the stairway. He turned to head toward his brother, who appeared to be almost done on the other side.

"No luck on this side, Dean. Although, your idea to burn this wing to the ground wasn't so bad. Some of the stuff he's got on these shelves could kill instantly given an opportune moment." He stated loudly in Dean's direction. "Shouldn't we have experienced some kind of activity by now?"

Sam could see the slight shake of his brother's head indicating he hadn't found anything either. As Sam walked across the center of the floor, movement caught the bottom corner of his eye and he stopped suddenly. An eerie feeling of being watched settled over him. He stared curiously at the floor and wondered what sort of material would give it the appearance of a swirling black abyss. He didn't see any further movement.

He started walking again and jerked still when another dark flash moved beneath him. "Hey Dean… I think there's something moving in the floor."

Dean, who had pulled his flashlight out earlier in the search, turned and aimed the beam at the floor near Sam's feet. The surface had a reflectiveness to it and the black color was pressed against the clear material coating the floor, but there was no movement. Dean raised an eyebrow, "Sure you're not imagining things, Samantha?"

Sam scowled at his brother and looked back down to his feet, hoping the ghostly shadow would pass again, but still nothing. With an anxious sigh, he continued toward his brother.

Dean found himself bored by the museum-like atmosphere and quietness stifling the room; he was really hoping to find the skull soon. He turned back to the bookshelf he was perusing and a mischievous grin appeared on his face when he noticed what was on the next table.

"I seem to have had some luck – not a skull, but we got tunes." Dean called and reached over to click on an old transistor radio.

"Dean! What are you doing? Anything in here could be cursed." Sam snapped at his brother's lack of cautiousness.

There was a little static before the auto-tuning grabbed a station. _I always feel like somebody's watching me..._

"And I have no privacy o-u-ohoh. I always feel like somebody's watching me." Dean faltered in his sing-along upon seeing the incredulous look Sam was giving him. "What? Nothing wrong with a little Rockwell."

"Seriously?" Sam hissed.

"Shh. You hear that?" Both boys stood still. Very quiet, but increasing in volume was a moaning that didn't fall in line with music. "Ha! Guess our skull enjoys insurance commercials."

Moments later, the moan exploded into a cry that had both Winchesters jamming their hands against their ears. Unexpectedly, a conjured wind swept up and pulled in from the outer circle of the room. The wind swirled into a cyclone at the center of the wing, picking up loose papers and other light weight objects.

A sudden strong current of wind lashed in Sam's direction, taking his legs out from under him and sliding him into a sturdy bookshelf. Sam gripped the edge tight, using it as an anchor when the breeze grew more violent. Upon seeing his brother go down, Dean attempted to dash across the room to Sam. A gust lifted under him, throwing him into the air. There was a loud shatter of glass as his body crashed into one of the display cases. Dean had seen it a second before he hit and had thrown his arms around his head, yelling "OH SHIT."

"Dean!" Sam called, but wasn't certain his brother could even hear him over the wind.

As quickly as the whirlwind started, it abruptly ended, as though a breaker had been blown. Everything dropped, littering the floor with debris. Sam stood up slowly, glancing around the still room. Aside from a few bruises and some soreness, he was fine. He quickly made his way over to Dean.

"Hey man, wake up." Sam said worriedly as he looked at all the small cuts on Dean's hands, which were still locked at the back of his head.

"M 'wake," Dean groaned as he allowed Sam to tug him over to his back. Dean sat up shakily and started to dust the small shards of glass off his jacket and pant legs. "Wha' the Hell was that?"

"I'm not sure, but whatever it was seems to sucked the energy out of the spirit, at least for now." Sam grabbed Dean's hands to check the cuts. "These all look pretty superficial. I think you got really lucky." Sam commented while continuing to look his brother's clothes over for any blood stains or impaling glass shards. "You feel any pain other than your hands?"

"I'm sore as shit, but I'll live." Sam eyed his brother skeptically. "Dude, seriously, I'm good. We need to find that skull before its batteries recharge." Dean hoisted himself up from the floor, waving off Sam's hands and offer to help.

"Well, I think it's safe to say the skull isn't on this level. So that leaves the upper balcony or the room below." Sam glanced at the railing above while trying to strategize their best course of action. "If we split up, now is probably the best time. It's a good bet the energy it took to form that cyclone weakened it temporarily. We need to go quickly though."

"Sounds like a plan. Dibs on the downstairs – one flying lesson is more than enough for me today." Dean snatched his flashlight up from the ground and started toward the stairs.

Dean rubbed and itched at his hands on the way downstairs. The small wounds weren't bad at all, certainly not life-threatening, but the microscopic glass dust left behind was crazy irritating. He wasn't sure what he was going to find on this level, but he couldn't imagine it being as boring as the hoard of things he'd just searched through. Upon reaching the bottom level, he had to feel along the wall for a light switch — apparently, there weren't any windows in this room. He finally located what felt like a large power switch and pressed the lever with a pop sound.

The floor to his right lit up brightly, illuminating a glass wall, which was actually a large tank filled with water. He could see the partial remains of an old wooden ship at the center of the aquarium and within the hull, settled in the sand, was an open chest overflowing with gold coins and gems. Large ghostly sharks swarmed around the centerpiece, each one flickering until it vanished and then reappearing several meters from where it was.

Completely in awe, Dean lifted his hand to the glass and watched the holograms glide around the tank. One of the sharks noticed Dean's presence and turned sharply to charge at the glass. Dean felt the impact against the side of the glass and jumped back in surprise before the shark completely disappeared — this wasn't a hologram. He pulled out his phone and dialed his brother while following the half-circle hallway around to a closed door.

Sam had taken the curved staircase up to the balcony and realized that there really wasn't anywhere for the skull to be hiding on this level. There were a few narrow tables, but all the artifacts appeared to be photographs with frames and paintings. Some were encased in the same modified glass panes as the artifacts below him. He walked the full circle rather quickly, keeping a close eye for anything on his right that resembled a skull. Then, his phone rang.

Seeing the caller id, Sam picked up and answered with a hopeful tone, "Did you find it?"

_"Nope, but I think I figured out what you were seeing in the floor earlier."_ Sam immediately moved to the balcony rail, looked down, and gasped. The floor was now illuminated and he could see clear to the bottom of the tank through the plexiglass-like covering. He could also see the shark-shaped silhouettes drifting around the broken wood planks of the boat. It was impossible to tell how thick the layer of glass was, and his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought of having to walk across it again. _"You still there Sammy?"_

"Uh, yea. Just looked down. Find anything else downstairs?"

_"Aside from cursed treasure, just an empty hall and a small library room. Looks like it's also used for storage and supplies, but everything is boxed up. No skull."_ There was a minute of silence. _"Sam?"_

"I just found it." Sam had looked up to get the disturbing ghostly images below out of his mind and found he was looking at an ornate chandelier. There sat the skull, as though someone had carefully placed it on the light fixture, and it appeared to be staring at directly at him.

"_Well, stick it in the case."_

"Not sure it's gonna be that simple. Getting to it might be a problem."

"_I'm on my way up now."_

Having nothing else to do for the time being, Sam stared back at the skull, trying to formulate a plan.

Dean looped up the stairs quickly. As he came up to Sam, his gaze turned out in the direction his brother was looking. "Well, son of a bitch. It really is watching you." His grin was overly cheesy. "How the Hell did it get up there anyway?"

"No idea. Maybe the wind?" Sam voiced his best guess, but his concern wasn't really how it ended up there; it was how to get it down, especially without pissing it off immensely. "But it definitely presents another issue."

"Nah." Dean replied, whipping out his Desert Eagle and firing a round at the skull without warning. The bullet glanced off its cheek bone, cracking it. The skull teetered on the edge before plummeting to the ground. "Problem solved." Dean declared proudly, ignoring Sam's mumbled comment about him being a complete idiot.

They traced their way back down the steps and toward the skull, maintaining a precautionary distance. Sam felt the need to step softly now that he knew what was just beneath his feet, even though he could hear the reasoning at the back of his mind. Given the precautions Dr. Pryor had taken with most of his inventory, it was highly unlikely the floor was going to shatter under his weight. He watched the skull warily as he moved, but it did what any normal skull would do – lay there, without so much as a twitch. The boys looked at each other briefly, expecting the worse case scenario. Sam shrugged and stooped to pick up the skull, handling it gently. When nothing happened, he stood and carried it to the glass case.

Dean remained where he was and grinned brightly. "See Sammy, piece of cake."

"Tell that to the glass display you demolished earlier." Sam retorted as he opened the latch for the case.

A loud straining groan pierced the silence, followed by a _swushing_ noise. Sam looked up just in time to see the plaster above the chandelier crumble, and the light fixture descend toward the ground quickly. He dropped the skull and sprinted for Dean. Sam barreled into his brother, knocking them both to safety as the chandelier crashed, sending more glass, plaster, and small metals pieces around the room.

The floor had to be reinforced in every way possible, but that still didn't stop Sam's heart from jumping into his throat at the destructive noise. He looked down just as a dorsal fin passed under him. All the apparitions had moved up to the top of the tank, as if awaiting a possible kill.

Dean jumped up quickly, and — as soon as he confirmed Sam was clear of the damage — ran over to the case. He chucked the skull in and tucked the door close. "Sam get over here with the marker! We need to bind this, now."

Sam raced over and flipped open one of his dad's old books they had dug out from the trunk. He scribbled a litany of symbols across the glass – the final one crossing over the border of the door pane. He stepped back eying his work and compared it to what was on the page. "I think we're good." He gave a relieved smile to Dean.

"So," Dean glanced around the room with a frown, "How much do you suppose that bastard is going to take out of our pay for all this? That chandelier has to be worth way more than what we're getting today."

"Well, I think we'll be lucky if he doesn't bill us the overage. If he does, I'm so coming back here to torch this entire place. There's just too much evil in here – feels uncomfortable to leave it all in someone else's hands." Sam's afterthought weighed heavily between the two boys as they each glanced around the East Wing one more time.

"I for one, will be happy if we never see this place again." Dean shook his head and turned Sam to the door. "Let's talk with the doc and put this place in the rearview."

Dean pulled the heavy door back and came face to face with Lucas Pryor. He stopped short, causing Sam, who was taking a final look at the ghostly scene below, to bump into his back.

The doctor's stern continence from their earlier dialogue was replaced with a relieved smile as he looked at the Winchesters. "Well done, gentleman." Even though he could see the destruction left on the floor through the still open door, his comment was absent of any sarcasm.

"You're not upset about the damage?" Sam replied skeptically.

"No. I've been meaning to remove that flashy chandelier anyway, and the shattered glass case will be quite easy to replace." He watched Sam and Dean exchanged surprised looks — both had clearly expected to be scolded — and chuckled a bit, catching their attention.

"Security cameras?" Dean guessed because how the hell else would the doctor have known to appear right as they were leaving. The comment was met with a smug smile. "Guess that remark about us not needing constant supervision from you was complete bullshit, huh?"

"Oh, it wasn't me watching. Max has been monitoring your progress and alerted me the moment you sealed that damn skull in its case. I thought it would be polite to escort you out."

"And pay us." Dean interrupted.

"Yes, and pay you. I've got your check for five thousand dollars right here. Who should I make it out to?" Lucas inquired.

"Sam Winchester, like the riffle." Sam spoke up. Between the two of them, Sam was the only one who had ever had a bank account and had left a small amount in his savings account from college for occasions such as this. Paid jobs were a rarity, but being able to cash a check without the bank taking a percentage was beneficial. Plus, as long as they didn't deposit anything, the record of the cashed payment would not show up on any bank statement associated to his name — exactly the thing Agent Hendrickson was waiting for, so he could pinpoint any recent location of his most wanted felons.

Lucas finished writing out the last line on the check and moved to hand it to Sam. Dean intercepted and folded the payment in half, securely tucking it into an inner pocket of his jacket. "Thank ya kindly, doc. Think it's time we got going. More jobs waiting."

The doctor nodded and looked somewhat disappointed as he looked back to Sam. "How about a meal before you leave? My cook is absolutely wonderful."

"Thank you for the offer, but we're ready to get back on the road." Sam politely declined. Lucas nodded stiffly and gestured for the guys to follow him back through the stuffy corridor.

After a few minutes of walking and awkward silence, they arrived back at the front entrance to the mansion, the two large gargoyles greeted them as they stepped into the fresh mountain air.

Dean was relieved to be out of the congested air in the house and took a deep breath while looking up at the thick white and gray clouds still blanketing the sky. His focus then turned to the Impala and in his rush to leave, he nearly missed seeing his little brother's step falter. Dean turned back just as Sam lifted his hand to one temple and scrunched up his eyes as he would with a piercing migraine… or a vision.

"De'n," Sam gasped out as the pain assaulted his mind, seeking to overtake his senses. He stumbled forward as his tactile signals were lost and the ground below him seemed to vanish. He barely felt the supporting hand through his hoody as his brother guided him down with one hand gripping Sam's arm and the other grasping the back of his neck.

Dean had known immediately what was happening and was at Sam's side in seconds. He got the kid to the ground before his little brother's face went completely blank and his mind was whisked off to another place and time.

Dr. Pryor moved out of the foyer, alarmed by the sudden ailment displayed by Sam. Dean was crouched in front of his brother, keeping him upright with a locked arm, and his gaze was fixated on the younger boy's hazel eyes, as though searching for a spark of life. Lucas took a hesitant step forward and reached out to touch Sam's shoulder.

"Back away," Dean barked out suddenly without glancing away from impassive look on Sam's face.

Lucas passively raised his hands in a gesture relaying he meant no harm. His unease for Sam's situation grew. "He needs help. Would you like me to contact the authorities for an ambulance?" He offered.

"No," Dean muttered in response. "He'll come out it in a minute." He commented confidently, but a part of him always wondered if that little thought he used to comfort himself would be wrong someday, and Sam would be forever lost within his own mind.

"Perhaps we should move him inside." The doctor suggested. Dean didn't respond. At that moment, Sam's eyes closed tightly and then fluttered as he came out of the vision. Dean was the only thing in his brother's field of view and he felt the tenseness leave the muscles in Sam's arm and neck.

Sam continued looking forward, but was now able to actually see his surroundings and his brother who was crouched close, green eyes full of concern. A moment later, Sam found his voice. "It was awful Dean… so much blood and that poor girl. We have to go. Now."

"We will Sam. Let's get to the car and we'll talk about it on the road." Dean responded, and Sam could read the unspoken words in his brother's eyes. This was not a good time to discuss what he'd seen. An image of the mansion and the creepy doctor flashed back to Sam as he remembered where they were, suddenly wishing he hadn't said anything at all.

Dean pulled his brother up, supporting a good portion of Sam's unsteady weight as he moved them around to the passenger side of the Impala. Sam was grateful for the help and uncoordinatedly dropped into his seat. He moved his legs over to the floorboard and slouched back as Dean shut the door for him.

Dr. Pryor had followed the brothers around their car, his mind turning quickly as he placed together the bits of information. He was confused and curiously excited. "What more did he see. Was it a vision? How long has this been happening? Is he psychic?" Lucas rambled as Sam was placed in the car. Dean whirled on him the second the door was closed.

"You didn't see shit and neither did he. Not that it's any of your business, but that was a pressure headache brought on by a day-terror episode." Dean explained while taking a fierce stride into the doctor's space. The move worked as he hoped and caused Lucas to take a few intimidated steps back toward the front door, but that did not stop his mouth.

The doctor gave a unconvinced look at Dean's rehearsed-sounding answer and glanced over to the car's windshield where Sam sat, head back and eyes closed. "At least bring him in and let him rest before you get back on the road. Look at him, he's exhausted."

Dean stepped over, blocking Lucas's view of his little brother. "You won't be looking at him ever again." He said with conviction. "My last piece of advise is to get rid of your 'collection' before you end up getting someone killed. We will NOT be coming back this way to save your ass should something like this happen again. Not for any amount of money."

Dr. Pryor felt his cheeks redden with anger — how dare this backroads punk speak to him in such an impudent tone. Before he could respond, the other man stepped around him, bodily moving past him and practically knocking him to the side with his shoulder.

Dean slid into the driver's seat and glanced at his little brother who seemed to have dozed off for the moment. The more powerful the vision was, the more energy it seemed to drain. He considered waking Sam to get more details on where they needed to go until he looked back through the windshield and saw the dark scowl painting the doctor's face as he continued to watch them from the front stoop. Probably better to at least get out of the mountains and further away from the doc before rousing Sam.

As the '67 Chevy purred to life, Dean stepped heavily on the gas, kicking up bits of gravel back toward the doctor as they passed him and continued around the circle drive. Dean took one last look in his mirror right before proceeding out of the clearing, planning to never return.

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Once the car rumbled past the brick pillars at the edge of the circle, Lucas pulled out his phone and quickly found the number he needed. He masked any residual anger from his voice as the line picked up on the other end.

"Hello, Luke, darling. I wasn't expecting to hear from you again so soon." A young, feminine voice answered – her faint British accent lighting the syllables.

"Just a quick question for a lovely, resourceful lady. What's the going rate for information these days?"

"Well it would depend on what information you're looking for." She countered.

"Everything there is to know about a young man named Sam Winchester."

**END, PART ONE**


	2. Crossing the Line

**Fatal Attractions**

By Ria

Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.

***The middle segment is taken directly from an episode and copyright for this clip belongs to creator, Eric Kripke — it is only included in the chapter for scene transition.**

A/N: This chapter takes place at a couple points in time. The first being just before season three begins. The middle section is scripting taken from 'Bad Day at Black Rock' as there are a few conversations in the episode that are relevant to this story. The final part picks up where the episode ends.

Ratings/Warnings: This chapter continues with the T rating for a little swearing and some creepiness. I view Bela as an opportunist and based on that, I do see her having a somewhat evil side that just happens to win out in this story. If you think she is an angel who can do no wrong, you may want to steer clear of this post.

THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS!

reannablue, twomoms, mb64, and Guest — whoever you may be :)

Special THANK YOU to the oh-so-awesome Beaignu for assisting as my beta… maybe, someday, she'll have an ff account. *hint hint, nudge nudge*

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Chapter Two: **Crossing the Line**

Late Summer 2007; Near Baker City, Oregon

Stiletto heels tapped against a freshly polished wood floor as Bela Talbot stepped into Lucas Pryor's den. The firelight from a large hearth illuminated the room with a flickering orange glow of warmth. Bela's black pencil skirt and suit top implied that her visit was purely professional as she set a thick manila folder on the intricately designed coffee table. She gingerly placed herself on the far left cushion of a lavish leather couch — back straight and legs crossed — while waiting for the doctor to speak.

Lucas turned from the bookshelf he'd been organizing to face the lovely woman who'd just arrived. He smiled warmly before swirling the scotch in his glass tumbler and taking a small sip. "I trust your trip went well?"

"Quite." Her answer was short and direct, exactly why the doctor enjoyed every transaction he had completed with her.

"And no issues with the package?"

"None at all." Bela replied. She was curious as to why the large crate had needed a chaperone on a direct flight, but she knew it would test the doctor's patience to pry and pushed back her curiosity.

Lucas spared Bela another glance as he took a seat on the matching leather couch across from her before his focus was drawn to the folder lying flat against the glass table. "This is everything?"

"Everything I was able to find. The whole family history was quite difficult to dig up," She continued as Luke began flipping through the enclosed documents, "and childhood records are spotty at best. Apparently, the father moved both children around the country on a regular basis; they were enrolled in three to five elementary schools each year. The brother appears to have dropped out before graduating, but Sam managed to keep a high GPA, despite moving so often, and received a full scholarship to Stanford Uni. Most of the solid information was gathered within those few years in Palo Alto. After the death of his girlfriend, he fell off the grid completely. The father is presumed dead and both boys are currently being hounded by the FBI on a variety of colorful charges, including grave desecration and murder."

Dr. Pryor, having skimmed quickly through the paperwork within the folder, looked up to Bela with renewed interest and asked, "What about the information outside public record? Did you find anything?"

"I did," She nodded while meeting the doctor's eyes. "I was able to speak with a few spirits who had quite a bit to say about Sam Winchester. Your hunch about him being psychic was correct, but the rumors go much deeper than that. The more talkative apparitions seem to be under the impression that he is a form of antichrist with demon blood running in his veins."

"Fascinating!" Lucas exclaimed as he gracefully stood and moved toward the door. He looked over to the shadows near the back of the room and caught Max's eyes before indicating that the other man should follow him out to the hall.

Bela jumped slightly, having not realized there was a third person in on their conversation, and raised a questioning eyebrow as she shifted to face the doctor.

Lucas returned her look with another warm smile. "Please excuse me Miss Talbot, I will return in just a moment." He disappeared into the dark shadows of the hallway. Max's vision focused on Bela for a few brief seconds — his gaze seemed to be measuring her — before accompanying the doctor outside the den.

Bela shifted uncomfortably while performing a more thorough search of the room with her eyes, especially in the dark corners where Lucas could have planted more of his employees. Determining she was indeed alone for the time being, she allowed herself some relief and leaned back into the cushions of the sofa. Bela had been assisting with the expansion of Dr. Pryor's collection for years and although he paid well for her services, his unpredictable personality created an overwhelming feeling of unease while in his presence; she preferred the comfort and safety of communication by phone with this particular client and was quite surprised when he had requested she fly up from Florida to escort his mysterious parcel and meet with him in person.

A low groan signified Lucas's re-entry to the room as the metal hinges protested the weight of the door. He crossed the room in swift strides and sat in the same spot he previously vacated, directly across from Bela. He leveled a serious gaze at the acclaimed thief and took a long drawn breath before speaking. "I have a new proposal for you, my dear. It would pay quite handsomely; at least three times more than any past errand I've commissioned you for."

Bela leaned forward with an intrigued look, light brown locks spilling forward from her shoulders. "I'm listening."

"I would like you to…" he paused a moment, considering the phrasing of his next few words, "collect Sam Winchester."

"Ha," Bela leaned back with a laugh, before realizing the doctor's visage remained solemn. It took Bela a moment to recover from the disbelief that he would even ask this of her. "You must be joking, Love."

"I assure you, this is a serious request." Lucas moved his arm out to place a thin strip of paper onto the table.

Bela barely glanced at the high figure printed on the check. She answered calmly, "I realize that my… moral compass doesn't always point North, but I only procure inanimate items. What you're asking is kidnapping."

Dr. Pryor was not dissuaded. "The boy has no one who would miss him once his brother is out of the picture, and based on the demon blood, I would say it hardly counts as kidnapping."

"And that just brings about another issue. If he is the antichrist, there is no way to comprehend what he might be capable of when cornered." Bela countered. "I would also be opposed to the implication of murdering his brother. You will need to find a different freelance specialist for this project."

With a displeased look, Dr. Pryor folded the check and pocketed it. "Well, I suppose that will be all then. I will contact you once I have a new order." He stood up to dismiss her from the room.

"I do have an alternative offer that may be of interest to you." She paused to ensure she had gained Lucas's full attention. "While doing my otherworldly research, I did come across the location of several unique items the late Mr. Winchester had concealed in storage during his travels. Many would make fitting additions to your supernatural assortment." The doctor accepted the list she handed to him.

Although still disappointed about his declined offer, a smile slowly crept across Lucas's face as he read through each artifact's description. For now, gathering these new items would keep him occupied. He would just have bide his time and make other arrangements for his more sinister plans.

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Season 3, Episode 3

Bad Day at Black Rock

Scripting Format — Relative Scenes (2)

_Bela is talking on the phone in her flat in Queens._

Bela: We shook on 1.5. Well, maybe I should just take it somewhere else. [Pause] Don't threaten me, Luke. Despite your reputation, you don't scare me. [Pause] Well, I'm glad you see it that way. I'll see you at the airstrip in an hour.

_Dean points a gun at Bela as she realizes he is in her flat._

Dean: You left without your tip. [Pause] You're gonna give it back.

Bela: Sweetie, no, I'm not.

Dean: Yeah? We'll see. [Pause] Bela, right?

Bela: That's right, Dean.

Dean: You know the thing's cursed, don't you?

Bela: You'd be surprised what some people would pay for something like that.

Dean: Really?

Bela: There's a lucrative market out there. A lot of money to be made. [Pause] You hunters, with all those amulets and talismans you use to stop those big, bad monsters. Any one of them could put your children's children through college.

Dean: So, you know the truth about what's really going on out there, and this is what you decide to do with it? You become a thief.

Bela: I procure unique items for a select clientele.

Dean: Yeah. A thief.

Bela: No. A great thief.

Dean: Look Bela, my brother, he touched the foot and when you took it from him his luck went from…

Bela: I know how it works.

Dean: So then you know he's gonna die unless we can destroy it.

Bela: Oh. [Pause] You can have the foot. For 1.5 million.

Dean: Nice. I'll just call my banker. [Pause] How'd you even find the damn thing? Stuck in the back of some storage place, middle of nowhere.

Bela: I just asked a few of the ghosts of the people it had killed. They were very attuned into its location.

Dean: So you're only out for yourself. It's all about number one.

Bela: Being a hunter is so much more noble? A bunch of obsessed, revenge-driven sociopaths trying to save a world that can't be saved.

Dean: Wow, aren't you a glass half full.

Bela: We're all going to Hell Dean, might as well enjoy the ride.

Dean: I actually agree with you there. [Pause] Any who, this has been charming, but ah, look at the time. And this. _Dean holds up the rabbit's foot._ You're not the only one with sticky fingers. If it's any consolation, I think you're a truly awful person.

_Bela fires her gun at Dean while he exits the flat, laughing. _

Dean: See ya!

_End Scene._

_Standing in the graveyard, next to the fire composed of bone ash and cayenne pepper._

Dean: Say goodbye to 'Wascawy Wabbit'.

Bela: I think you'll find that belongs to me. [Pause] Or, you know, whatever. Put the foot down, honey.

Dean: No. You're not gonna shoot anybody. See, I happen to be able to read people. Okay, you're a thief, fine, but you're not… _Bela shoots Sam in the shoulder._ Oh! Son of a…

Bela: Back off, tiger. [Pause] Back off. You make one more move, and I'll pull the trigger. You've got the luck, Dean. You I can't hit, but your brother, him I can't miss.

Dean: What the hell is wrong with you?! You don't just go around shooting people like that!

Bela: Relax, it's a shoulder hit. I can aim. Besides, who here hasn't shot a few people? [Pause] Put the rabbit's foot on the ground, now.

Dean: Alright! Alright. Take it easy. [Pause] Think fast.

_Dean throws the rabbit's foot and Bela catches it._

Bela: Damn.

Dean: Now, what do you say we destroy that ugly-ass piece of dead thing?

Bela: Thanks very much. I'm out one and a half million and on the bad side of a very powerful, fairly psychotic buyer.

Dean: Wow. I really don't feel bad about that. Sam?

Sam: Nope. Not even a little.

Bela: Maybe next time, I'll hang you out to dry.

Dean: Oh, don't go away angry, just go away.

Bela: Have a nice night, boys.

_Sam and Dean head back to the car._

Dean: You good?

Sam: I'll live. [Pause]

Dean: I guess we're back to normal now, huh? No good luck, no bad luck. Oh, I forgot. We're up forty-six thousand dollars. I almost forgot about the scratch tickets.

_Bela drives by on the road next to the cemetery and honks. _

Dean: Son of a Bitch!

_End Scene_

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Bela smiled at the scratch and win tickets tucked between the cup holders of her Lexus convertible. She then scowled, remembering the 1.5 million dollars the foot would have gotten her. Not only was she shorted a seventy percent profit, she would now have to break the news to Lucas that his coveted vermin appendage was destroyed. After their sore discussion a few months prior, she was in no hurry to provoke his temper.

She released a frustrated curse while pulling to the side of the road in a cloud of gravel dust. Dean Winchester had screwed her, and she would have to deal with the consequences of his meddling. Bela was really hoping this would be the job that would put her back in Luke's good graces, regain his trust. The need to win was still pulsing through her veins as a distant thought crept to the front of her mind.

Dean had struck a brutal blow to her reputation, pride, and bank account, but she could hit him a lot harder. Bela, now sitting on the shoulder of a dark highway with only the interior lights from beneath her dashboard, had unconsciously pulled her cell phone from her coat pocket and her fingers fiddled with the small device as she thought through her next move.

Sam could more than compensate her losses for this debacle. She could accept Luke's offer to kidnap the youngest Winchester and make five times what she requested for the rabbit foot, and if she could handle the task quickly and successfully, the doctor would regain his full trust in her abilities. Plus, it would be the best possible way to punish Dean for interfering in her affairs.

Having observed the boys while trying to recover the foot and after shooting Sam without any repercussions, she was also thinking the 'antichrist' rumor was complete bullshit. With that much power, it was hard to think he could be toppled by something so insignificant as a cursed object. It would be too easy to swoop in with a little muscle and grab the kid, leaving Dean with no indication as to where his brother had vanished.

Her thumb flipped up the phone cover and scrolled through her contacts until Luke's name appeared. A guilty feeling began to coil in her gut, but she pushed it back by rationalizing that there were plenty more pros to this decision than cons.

Before she realized the number had been dialed, there was an answer at the other end of the line — a voicemail recording. Bela breathed a sigh of relief, thankful that she would not have to go into full detail about her failure to recover the foot.

"Hello, Luke, this is Bela. Our current plans have changed slightly. I had a run-in with the Winchester boys. Thanks to Dean, the rabbit's foot is beyond reach, but I've reconsidered your offer about collecting Sam Winchester. I know exactly where they are and will continue to track them as I make further arrangements. I will be in touch with you again soon."

As Bela snapped the phone closed, she spun the steering wheel into a u-turn and headed back to town, intent on monitoring the Winchesters' every move.

**TBC**

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**Thank you for reading! Please review if you have a moment — I love feedback. I've got a good picture for where the story is going, but I'm also open to suggestions. Please let me know if there is something specific you'd like to see happen, and I'll see if I can incorporate it.**


	3. Winchester Luck

**Fatal Attractions**

By Ria

Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox. If anyone from Knightstown, IN should happen to read this… I have never been to your town and this is probably an inaccurate portrayal of the people who actually live there. I just grabbed a map and picked a random small town for the setting — definitely no intent to offend anyone, promise.

A/N: Not much for this chapter. I guess you could say the plot thickens… yay.

Ratings/Warnings: Still sitting at a T rating for now. Some swearing and violence toward the end.

THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS! *Chapter 2*

reannablue and mb64

Special THANK YOU to Beaignu for assisting as my beta.

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Chapter Three: **Winchester Luck**

Knightstown, Indiana

A couple weeks after "Bad Day at Black Rock"

"Dude, I think you just might be the prettiest chick here." Dean remarked as he smiled up to his brother.

"Bite me." Sam glared back at Dean's grin before surveying the interior of a bar they had located on the outskirts of town. Most of the patrons looked up at the two strangers briefly before going back to their conversations. Some of the looks had been curious, but mostly nonchalant and no eyes lingered. Dean was correct about there being few women — none even close to their age and most wearing packed make-up over their skin to hide the weathered wrinkles. The crowd seemed quite sparse for a Friday night, but Sam just attributed that to the low population of the town.

Dean stepped forward and held a few bills over his shoulder for Sam to take. "Grab us a few beers. I'm gonna scope out the pool table."

Sam grabbed the money with one hand while placing his other on Dean's shoulder and forcibly turned him back. "I thought you said no work or research. I'm pretty sure hustling falls under that since its your main source of income." Sam growled with a stern look. He didn't object to going out for a few drinks tonight, but he wasn't thrilled with Dean's decision to take a full week off hunting.

"Don't get your panties twisted, Samantha. Just gonna see how soon we can get in on a round… maybe grab a friendly game with the locals." Dean countered while brushing Sam's hand away from his shoulder. He moved off toward the back of the narrow building, weaving through a cramped aisle of abandoned chairs and tables.

Sam continued forward to the bar and waited patiently while the bartender pulled out a couple bottles. With a polite thank you, he wandered off in the direction Dean had just gone.

By the time Sam made his way to the back section, Dean was already working his social magnetism with a couple men who appeared to be finishing up their game. The older hunter noticed Sam out of the corner of his eye and waved him forward. "This my little brother, Sam. Sam, meet Dave and Ryan. Also brothers."

Sam lifted his beer slightly and nodded in acknowledgement as Dean pointed to each man respectively as he said their names. The other two men were older — probably mid to late thirties — and well built, their muscles accented by the t-shirts they wore. It was a stark contrast to the appearance of the other patrons whose beer-guts indicated that they hadn't done much other than drink through most of their prime years. The features of these men were hardened and worn, reminding Sam of their father's usual appearance. He almost jumped to the conclusion that they'd run into hunters, but quickly dismissed that thought. After all, what were the odds of them running into other hunters in a small backroads town with no hunts in the area. Dean had made certain they wouldn't be running into anything even remotely supernatural before deciding to camp out in this town.

Dave lifted his cap slightly and bent his knees to exaggerate looking up to Sam. "_Little_ brother? Ain't nothin' little 'bout that boy. Jeez, what you been feedin' him?" He laughed in a friendly, teasing fashion.

"That, gentlemen, is what happens when you eat all your veggies and avoid junk food." Dean joked back while taking his own beer from Sam.

"Not sure I could do that… miss out on all the sugar 'n grease, that's the best part." Ryan commented and began to wrack up the pool balls for a new game. "Little brothers versus older brothers this game? Bet me and Sam can kick your asses."

"Bring it." Dean replied and shoved a pool stick at Sam. "You kids can break since you're already at a disadvantage." He followed with a cocky wink, knowing even though Sam wasn't bad at pool, his younger brother couldn't beat Dean on his best day. Sam accepted the pool cue and moved to break.

"Haven't seen you guys 'round here before," Dave started conversationally, "you just move into the area?"

"Nah, just passing through on a road trip." Dean responded smoothly, "Town seemed like a quiet, peaceful spot to spend a couple nights, just relax ya know. You guys lived here long?"

"All our lives. This old bar ain't much, but its been 'round a long time. Lil' embarrassed to admit we're regulars here."

Dean drew a sip from his beer before responding. "No offense, but it does look like most the knights in this town traded in their shiny sets of armor for a beer belly and some chickens." Sam flashed a disapproving look at Dean, hoping his brother's big mouth didn't get them on the bad-side of the locals. Luckily, the other two men just snickered at the horrible pun.

"This place has definitely seen better days." Ryan commented as he finished his shot, sinking a solid in the corner pocket. He straightened and gave a familiar, friendly wave to the bartender. After he angled to make another shot and finished up his turn with a miss, Ryan started toward the counter. "Back in a minute. Next round's on me."

Just as the first game finished, Ryan returned with four de-capped, cold brewskis and handed them around before lifting his own bottle in a toast, "To small towns and bros." The guys all nodded, taking a gulp and a moment of awkward silence, before starting on a second game of pool.

The night continued with easy conversation and plenty of crude humored jokes from Dean and Dave. By the end of the second game, Sam found himself distracted from his immediate surroundings, internally running through all the information he had come across while searching for a way to get Dean out of his deal. He finished the last few drinks of his beer quickly, suddenly antsy to get back to his computer. "Hey guys, I'm getting kinda tired. Gonna head back to the motel."

Dean eyed his brother suspiciously as he walked closer and lowered his voice, "You sure, Sammy? Probably pretty boring back at the motel. How about just a couple more games, and I'll head back with you."

Sam paused a moment before responding. "No, that's okay. I'm just not feeling too well at the moment. You don't need to cut your night short."

"Wanna take Baby?" Dean asked, holding up his keys to validate the rare offer.

"I'll just walk. It's not too far and the fresh air will be good." Sam shrugged and spoke up to get their companions' attention. "I'm off for the night. Nice meeting you both." Both the men nodded and smiled, returning the sentiment, as Sam politely excused himself. Before walking off, he leaned over toward Dean's shoulder and whispered, "Take it easy on the alcohol tonight."

"Please," he stammered indignantly, "I'm always the responsible one." The bitch face he received from Sam in return said it all — both Winchesters knew there was little truth in that statement lately, especially when he wasn't working a case. Dean sobered his attitude for the moment and replied, "Don't worry, no more than a few beers. I'll be back in a couple hours, tops. Call if you need anything."

Sam nodded and gave one more friendly smile goodbye as he headed toward the exit.

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Sam heard the motel door thunk and click shut behind him as he glared disdainfully at the empty table next to the window where his laptop should have been. Dean's earlier words floated back to him in the most irritable way. _I mean it Sammy, a full week off. No hunts and no researching. If I catch you doing anything on that computer other than surfing porn, you won't see it again until vacation is over. _And sure enough, big brother had been true to his word. Sam had stepped into the bathroom while Dean was out getting breakfast this morning – screen left open and unlocked – and his brother had walked in at that exact moment to see Sam's most recent reference website for holding a hellhound at bay. Dean hadn't said much at the time, but did cast a menacing look toward his brother that promised retribution for breaking the imposed rule.

"Dammit, Dean." Sam growled as he shrugged his coat off, tossing it over the back of the nearest chair. He had cut his night short, thinking this would be the perfect time to do some further research on breaking his brother's deal while Dean was distracted by booze, pool, and chicks — although the latter was unlikely unless business had picked up after Sam left.

Resigning himself to a night of channel surfing, Sam kicked off each shoe and stumbled slightly before planting himself on the comforter. He stacked the pillows before leaning back against them and the headboard. After a few minutes browsing the sad selection of thirteen stations, Sam settled on _The Goonies_. He released a fatigued yawn and glanced at the digital red numbers of the room's alarm clock: 10:30p.m. Having gotten a full, restful sleep the night before, it surprised him a bit that he felt this tired so early. His eyelids continued to droop insistently, followed with a few more yawns, as the movie rolled on for the next couple hours.

At some point, Sam must have dozed off because the next thing he heard was a loud pounding at the motel door. The room was now dark except for the flickering static waves that had taken over the television station. He took a moment to stretch, still feeling unusually exhausted, before checking the time: 2:30a.m. The pounding came again as he noticed the bed nearest the door was still empty, putting him on instant alert. He snatched Dean's knife from its usual place beneath his brother's pillow and held it poised behind his back as he moved over to the door. He could hear light conversation from outside the room and a look in the peephole revealed the two men they had met at the bar supporting what he assumed was his very inebriated older brother.

Sam quickly tucked the knife into the back of his jeans and opened the door. He was greeted by the two highly amused smiles of Dave and Ryan, both still wide awake. His focus turned to Dean's listless form being held upright only by his arms which were strung around the necks of the two men. "What happened?" Sam asked while eyeing the two guys suspiciously.

"Few too many I'd say." Ryan responded. "You mind letting us in? He ain't exactly light." He huffed a bit to prove his point as he readjusted the weight he had been carrying, causing Dean's head to roll limply toward the shorter man's shoulder.

Sam nodded and moved aside while pulling the door open further to allow them plenty of space. "Closest bed is fine." He instructed. Sam found himself annoyed by this turn of events. Since Dean had made his deal, his typical alcohol consumption had taken a drastic leap with the excuse of wanting to 'live it up' before his trip downstairs. The amount of spirits Dean would have had to consume — since his older brother's tolerance was already significantly higher than the general population — for him to be out cold was just staggering. He also felt slightly embarrassed and guilty for the burden his brother had become to these two strangers. "Thank you for bringing him back here. Let me ah, get you something for your troubles."

Sam turned to grab a little money out of his duffel while roughly pushing his bangs back from his forehead. He couldn't seem to shake the lingering fuzziness of sleep. He pulled a wrinkled ten out from an interior pocket of the bag; it was the only cash he had at this time and hoped the guys weren't expecting more. Luckily, the desk his stuff rested on had a small mirror connected to the back, and Sam saw the encroaching figures a few seconds before they could jump him.

Sam pulled Dean's dagger from its hidden place at his back and whirled to face the room as Dave lunged for him. Sam arched the sharp blade around, grazing the shorter man's collar bone and slicing deep into his bicep. His attacker grunted in pain before taking a jump back to regroup. The momentum Sam had used worked against his balance as he stumbled again. He shook his head, trying to clear the feeling of displacement, as he started to raise the dagger again and take a defensive stance.

Just as Sam got the weapon up, Ryan slammed into his right side and braced a forearm against the younger man's wrist so he was unable to turn the blade in Ryan's direction. Sam did manage to throw up an elbow and there was a sickening crunch as it made contact with Ryan's face. Ryan jerked back with the blow, but the tackle still managed to ram Sam into the side of the narrow desk and his head smacked into the mirror causing further disorientation. Unable to recover immediately, Sam started to drop as the fingers of his left hand scrabbled for purchase on the edge of the desk — anything to keep himself upright against the unexpected assault. His left hand kept a desperate grip on his only weapon.

Despite the steady flow of blood running from his nasal cavity, Ryan was still moving and managed to clamp a hand around the front collar of Sam's t-shirt, violently throwing him to the floor and planting a vicious kick just below his ribs. The air left Sam's lungs, and he took several deep breaths while trying to curl onto his side. Ryan planted his boot heel on Sam's right hand, forcing him to release the dagger and then straddled the kid's chest to keep him pinned while he got a restraining grip on each wrist.

Dave had moved closer and was looking into Sam's slightly dilated, confused eyes as they fought to focus on his surroundings. He chuckled darkly and held up the syringe he had filled while Ryan subdued the younger man. "Should'a stayed for a few more drinks kid. Would'a been a helluva lot easier on all of us."

"Wha?" Sam's brows furrowed as he struggled to make sense of what was happening. When the full meaning of that comment finally hit him, he glanced over at Dean's still form resting on the bed nearest the door. He was unable to see the rise and fall of his brother's chest and his concern grew; Dean wasn't drunk, he was drugged… possibly dead. Sam panicked and struggled harder to remove the weight on his chest. "DEAN!"

Ryan brought Sam's wrists together so he could hold them both with one hand and placed the newly freed hand over the kid's mouth, muffling his attempts to rouse his brother. "Shhh. None of that now. You don't wanna wake the neighbors." Sam shook his head and pulled at his arms fiercely but was unable to dislodge the man's grip on him. The hold would have normally been easy to break, but with the narcotic he had unknowingly drunk earlier still pumping through his system, his muscle coordination was suffering severely.

Dave stepped forward with malicious intent, still feeling the sharp sting of the blade slicing his bicep, and crouched down next to Sam's outstretched arms. He injected the tranquilizer into a vein at the young hunter's elbow and stepped back, waiting for the effects to take hold. As the minutes passed, Sam's struggles lessened to the point where he could no longer lift his head, his panicked gasps became long, drawn breaths as his heartbeat slowed. Concern for his brother was helping him cling to consciousness, but it wasn't enough to overcome the new drug.

Sam watched in silent fear as each man pulled out a roll of duct tape and felt a tug at his lower legs when Dave began wrapping his ankles. Ryan placed a silver strip over Sam's mouth before turning him to his side and pulling his unresisting arms behind his back to bind his wrists. Sam's bangs fell over his eyes, further obscuring his blurry vision, as his eyelids grew heavier. Within moments, the blackness over came all his senses.

Dave reached into Sam's duffel and grabbed a spare t-shirt to wrap tightly around his arm and stanch the blood flow from the cut. "Little Shit." He grumbled, realizing the gash was deep enough that it would have to be stitched closed. The laced drinks weren't that powerful initially, but were meant to reach full potency after a few hours and last well into the following day; he was quite surprised that Sam's mind was still this lucid after so much time had passed.

"At least you can still breathe through yer nose." Was Ryan's muffled reply as he pinch his nostrils tight and held his head back. "Think the brat broke ma' nose."

Dave reached for another article of clothing and chucked it at Ryan. "Wipe down any prints and make sure everything is back in order. Bela was very clear: no evidence we were here or that there was any struggle. I'm gonna back the van up to the door. And don't forget to grab the clothes and the duffel." He walked over to the motel door, grabbing Sam's previously discarded coat from the chair so it wouldn't be left behind, and was half way out when Ryan's voice halted him.

"What're we supposed to do with the other one?" Ryan asked, gesturing to Dean's prone form on the bed.

"Nothing. Leave him as is."

**TBC**

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**Thank you for reading and please review. I'm always open to feedback and suggestions!**


	4. Home

**Fatal Attractions**

By Ria

Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.

A/N: This post is quicker than I usually get my chapters up, mostly because a good chunk of it was done long before I finished chapter one.

Ratings/Warnings: T rating for swearing and creepiness ahead — nothing too graphic.

THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS! *Chapter 3*

Murphy9202, reannablue, and mb64

Special THANK YOU to Beaignu for assisting as my beta.

***** SPN SPN SPN SPN *****

Chapter Four: **Home**

Near Baker City, Oregon

Consciousness was fleeting at best and always followed by a drowning sensation. There were flashes of clarity here and there, but then a pang would tug his mind back under the water. Sam's eyes slipped open and fought to focus on his surroundings. His head rolled listlessly from one shoulder to the other as he attempted to lift it up, the weight much heavier than usual. He concentrated instead on trying to blink away the blurry patches of color in his vision. It took a few minutes, but finally the contrast returned, and he was able to make out his navy blue t-shirt and jeans.

Sam had the immediate urge to stretch out, but his muscles were still numb, making it difficult to tell if he had successfully moved any of his limbs. He groaned his discomfort but became further agitated when he realized his tongue wasn't cooperating either — something was pressed against it, holding it still in his mouth. As his foggy mind tried to make sense of his current predicament, he began to notice the irritating pull at the corners of his lips and the foreign object wrapped tightly against both cheeks: a gag. The realization sent a chill of panic through his veins, and he sure as hell felt that sensation despite the numbness he was fighting.

Swallowing hard, Sam took several breaths and concentrated on staying calm. Feeling was starting to return in his fingers and toes, so it was just a matter of time for the rest of his muscles to wake up — time to ponder how he got into this mess in the first place. He thought back to the bar and the two guys who brought Dean back to the motel room. Dean was out cold, and the two guys had turned on Sam, taken him completely by surprise, and overpowered him. They must have been hunters, probably friends of Gordan's. Oh God, Dean was probably drugged or dead, not passed out drunk like those assholes had led him to believe.

A few other images flooded back to him, but it was difficult to determine if they were real or conjured up in his mind by the drugs. The clearest parts of what he did remember had him believing that Bela was involved; he had seen her face and heard her voice pierce through his drug-induced sleep a few times. The other faces he could recall were ones he had never seen prior to that night at the bar. He wondered how long ago that actually was and how long he had been here.

Sam tried to move again and found he could feel his arms crossed a few inches above his head. He pulled several times, but could not bring his wrists down from the cold bar. He managed to roll his head up this time and could see that they were tightly fastened by zip-ties, which would be damn near impossible to break or slip. From this angle, Sam also noticed he was contained by what could best be described as a large, cast-iron kennel that was tall enough for him to sit up in — had his wrists not been secured at this angle — and short enough that his legs would have to remain slightly bent. With mobility back in his neck, Sam was able to see that his ankles had been secured in the same fashion as his wrists. The ties were attached to the metal grid about a foot up from the ground on the longer panel, effectively holding his body against left side of the cage and making it impossible for him to get any leverage to move.

His training kicked in now that he was thinking clearly, and his father's voice drilled orders into his mind – assess your situation, find all the weaknesses and every advantage you can take.

Sam's observations passed beyond the bars and his heart nearly stopped. The room itself was not familiar, but the musty smell and lavish decor where enough clues. A dark pit settled in his stomach. _Fuck_. If only it had just been Gordan...

Thin, dark curtains let in just enough light for him to see the interior of the room; the east wing of the mansion in Oregon. The walls were lined with sturdy wooden bookshelves and a couple tables – similar to the one his cage sat upon. This must have been the library room downstairs that Dean had mentioned the last time they were here. There were no storage boxes in sight, but tons of books were crammed onto the many shelves.

The room was quiet and still, but the pressing concern was that Dean didn't seem to be here. Sam wasn't sure if that was good or bad; he hoped his brother was alive and searching for him, but it could be just as likely that Dean was a prisoner here too or dead. The frustration of not being able to move and the need to know if his brother was okay had Sam viciously tugging at the restraints around his wrists.

After several minutes of struggling, his hands remained pinned above him, and his only reward was multiple fresh, stinging cuts from the plastic and a few wet trails of blood on his forearms. His brain was racing to find a way out of the ties when a door clicked and creaked open somewhere behind him. Sam didn't have enough mobility to turn around and see who had entered. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered on, and Sam dropped his head to his chest, eyes closed. He was hoping the ruse would be enough to dissuade any unwanted attention.

A set of heavy footsteps padded against the carpet, coming to a stop in front of the kennel. There was a clicking noise, like a latch being released, followed by metal grating against metal next to him; whoever it was must have opened the right panel of his cage. Sam kept still.

"Oh come, you must be awake by now." The familiar voice was a bit slurred. Sam felt a few fingers press into his neck, seeking his pulse. The touch lingered for a minute. "Too fast to be sleeping."

Sam felt the fingers move slowly up to the right side of his face, tracing his jaw, and a second hand took hold beneath his chin, lifting his head. A thumb pressing over his bottom lip was too much, and Sam jerked his head away from the uncomfortable attention. His hazel eyes opened to reveal a hateful glare for man in front of him.

"Ah, there he is." The smile was full of sick fascination, and the man's breath reeked of liquor. "Hello Sam. I trust you remember me?" Sam continued to glower; how could he have forgotten the psycho? "Dr. Lucas Pryor."

The doctor moved his hand up Sam's arm so he could rub away the dried blood and check the zip-ties — one looped around each wrist and fastened together with a third, keeping his wrists crossed and connected to the metal grid. "I'm sure you have plenty of questions for me, but I have a feeling that removing your gag at this time would be... unproductive."

Sam gave a response of "fuck you" but it was soft and muffled beneath the thick cloth. The doctor got the message from the fury in Sam's eyes and chuckled softly in response.

"Looks like you're going to make this arrangement as difficult as possible." His hands moved to Sam's feet to check ties around both his ankles. Once Lucas's hand grasped at his foot, Sam remembered he also had no shoes on when the assailants grabbed him. Dr. Pryor continued, "You know who I am and the oddities I seek out for my collection. I'm sure you also know that you're a very special young man. I've done enough research to know about the visions, the demon blood..."

Sam's brows lifted, eyes wide and confused. "Yes Samuel, I know all about it. Makes you somewhat of a rarity, wouldn't you say?" It took his drugged mind a moment to catch up, but what the man was implying started to connect.

The doctor's hand released Sam's ankle and trailed slowly against his jeans, stopping to rest at the boy's knee. "The current arrangement," He gestured at the iron kennel, "is not ideal. I've never done anything like this before, but I know someone who has experience handling living possessions. He assures me that if we follow his instructions, you'll be quite docile soon. Then, we can transfer you to a much more comfortable habitat."

The rage Sam was holding in was suddenly replaced with an icy terror. This asshole couldn't be serious. Part of him thought maybe he was imagining this whole conversation; it was just a hallucination brought on by whatever drug they had injected into him. He could feel the pace of his heart beating faster as each second ticked by. This wasn't real.

Dr. Pryor looked intensely at Sam, noticing the boy's anger had faded out to be replaced by something similar to shock. His muscles had relaxed, the fight having temporarily left him, and his eyes stared past the doctor with an almost vacant expression which Lucas mistook for acceptance.

"I'm sure this is a lot to take in Sam, but the lifestyle change is permanent; you are home now. Unlike the rest of my collection, we are able to interact." Lucas moved his hand from Sam's knee to the bottom of his t-shirt and started to slide his fingers over Sam's lower abs. "So I can make your stay much more enjoyable..."

The repulsive touch shook Sam back to reality and he jerked hard against his bonds. The doctor's hand stopped moving, but stayed firmly, possessively, in place on his stomach. Sam tried to hold back the paralyzing fear and attempted to get his breathing under control. He needed to get out of this. Now.

The unwanted hand continued on its track up his chest, sliding his t-shirt with it. Sam thrashed again, causing a fresh line of blood to slid over the skin of his arms, and the gag caught his muffled shouts. His lungs hitched, and Sam was suddenly unable to take in a breath. The large room seemed to rapidly decrease in size as his vision tunneled from the lack of air.

Dr. Pryor noticed the affect of his unwanted advances and withdrew his hand. He hadn't expected his offer of comfort to bring about an anxiety attack, and even though a psychic kid with demon blood was anything but predictable, he thought Sam would have been more resilient.

With the hand gone, Sam screwed his eyes shut and let his head drop down to his chest as he fought to take in desperately needed air through his nose and regain his composure. He trembled slightly at the notion of what this man might ultimately want from him and his current helplessness to stop it.

Lucas was slightly surprised by the reaction he got from the boy. He expected a little resistance, but the panic and revulsion written on Sam's features caused him to pause. He needed to rethink his approach. He made his way over to the nearest window and cracked it open by about a foot. Maybe some fresh air would help keep the boy calm — it also helped to sober the doctor slightly.

Making his way back over to Sam, Luke put a hand on each of the boy's cheeks and very gently lifted his head. He waited for Sam to open his eyes before speaking. "I will never hurt you. I want you to feel at home and comfortable in my presence." The doctor blinked and paused a moment before continuing, "Max will be by with a physician in a few hours. They will tend to any injuries and physical needs."

Dr. Pryor stepped back and Sam sighed in relief as the contact left his skin and the metal gate was slid back into place. The doctor turned to leave, stumbling slightly in his inebriated state, and flipped off the overhead lights. Sam wondered what time it actually was for the older man to have been in such a state. He spent several minutes listening for any sounds now that the window was open and realized by the steadily increasing number bird calls that it must be just past dawn.

After sleeping for an immeasurable amount of time and experiencing such an alarming encounter, Sam was far from ready to doze off again. He gave another jerk against the tight zip-ties and realized there was nothing to do but sit and wait.

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A while later — several hours by Sam's guess — the door opened once more. Sam immediately closed his eyes and dropped his head, hoping his ploy would be successful this time and he would just be left alone. The sunshine streaming through the slightly drawn curtains was more than enough to illuminate the room, and the person who entered did not bother to switch on the interior lights. Heavy, spaced footsteps moved close — at least two sets by the sound — and the right grid was slid open once more. Sam tensed slightly, anticipating the unwanted and invasive presence of Dr. Pryor. After several moments of silence and no physical contact, Sam cautiously lifted his eyelids.

Max was intimidating the first time he and Dean had been here but in his current predicament, with this dark giant looming over him, the man was absolutely terrifying. Sam glowered at Max threateningly, attempting to hide the fear. Max smirked in response, amused by the brave deception. The other figure stood back a ways, just observing; he was far enough away that Sam could only make out his loose white t-shirt and baggy jeans. The appearance was a sharp contrast to Max's pressed, silky button-up shirt and slacks.

"You are quite the looker, kid." Max commented while moving his massive hand to grip Sam's jaw and keep his head still. He noticed Sam's shirt had risen to reveal his lower abdomen and made a few tsking sounds. "Doc's been in here already, hasn't he?"

Sam didn't bother trying to respond — not that he really could with the gag still fastened in place — and figured the question was rhetorical anyway.

Max motioned the other man forward, "Travis, get over here with the camera. I want this done before Scott gets down here." As Travis stepped closer, Sam was able to discern the weasel-like features of his facial structure highlighted by his greasy blonde hair, which had been pulled back into a low pony-tail, and an ostentatious diamond stud in his right ear.

Travis snapped a few close-ups of Sam's face as Max turned his resisting head to the left and right. Max then lifted Sam's shirt up higher to display most of his chest and stepped out of frame so Travis could take more photos. Sam had started to struggle with his ties again, trying to shift away from the uncomfortable attention.

When Travis finished up, he let the camera hang loose from the strap round his neck and continued to eye Sam greedily. "What the Hell was Pryor thinking?" His oily voice commented with disbelief. "This kid is worth four times what he paid. Wish we'd picked him up a few years back. Even now, we could prolly get the doc a half dozen already broken boys for this one."

Sam fought the overwhelming urge to hurl, really wishing he wasn't privy to this discussion. His exertions amused Max as the larger man reached back into the kennel to ruffle his hair. "You're a fighter, aren't you?" He commented while meeting Sam's defiant eyes. "You should be grateful Doc picked you. Although, with spirit like that I'll probably be handing you off to a buyer within a month or so. Doc's got patience, but not the amount it will take to break you."

Max stood back and glanced at his watch before ordering Travis away. "Scott will be here any minute. Get those pictures posted on the website. We'll do an open bid for the time being — see if we can narrow down the serious competitors." He smiled smugly at Sam, enjoying the control he now had over this kid's life, just has he had with every other sale he'd made in his former profession.

As soon as Travis had disappeared into the hall, a third figure appeared. This man's attire reminded Sam of a elder college professor, and his partially graying, brown beard was neatly trimmed around the bottom portion of his face while his shaggy, unkept hair stuck out at various angles. A stethoscope was draped over one shoulder, and he carried a plastic medical box with him. The man stopped a few steps from Max, taking in the scene before him with a distasteful look.

"This is your patient. Dr. Pryor has requested you check the kid's vitals and make any necessary procedures to keep him in good health while down here for the upcoming week." Max said casually, not caring that the newcomer had scoffed over the visible bruises blossoming on 'the kid's' abs and the abrasions left by the plastic around his wrists.

"The kid's name is Sam. You mind giving us a little space?" He spat at Max, resenting having to take orders from this scumbag for the duration of his stay, and shouldered the taller man out of the way while putting on his stethoscope. Once Max had moved to another part of the room, the physician's nerves eased a bit and he looked Sam in the eyes. "Sam, I'm Dr. Scott. I know this situation is difficult, but I really do want to make sure you're okay. Can you try to relax and take deep breaths while I listen to your heart?"

Sam knew he shouldn't comply, but he could hear the genuine honesty in Scott's words. He tried his best to hold still and breath around the stifling cloth in his mouth while the frigid metal chestpiece was placed at various spots on his torso. Once he was done listening, Scott pressed lightly on Sam's ribs to test the damage that may lie beneath the graying purple contusions. Despite Sam's hisses and shifting, the physician didn't feel anything out of place or alarming. He then proceeded to take Sam's pulse and blood pressure before signaling for Max.

Dr. Scott looked up at the larger man and asked, "So you intend to keep him in this cage for an entire week… unable to move?"

"That's the plan." Max confirmed with an evil smirk in Sam's direction when the younger man's eyes widened.

Sam, obviously not consenting to this plan, started pulling at his captive limbs with as much strength as he could muster. Scott cringed as he watched fresh rivulets of blood run down the kid's forearm and drip into his disheveled hair.

"Got any good drugs on you, old man? Probably best to put him out for the next procedure." While continuing his efforts to get free, Sam was shouting a barely identifiable string of curse words through the gag. Scott didn't want to cause Sam any further stress or allow him to continue to injure himself with the restraints, so he nodded his approval to Max's suggestion and popped open the medical case to remove a syringe.

The effects of the muscle relaxant were almost instant and Sam went limp, his body seeming to float away. He felt his ankles and wrists cut free, but was too zonked to fight the hands repositioning him to lay across the length of the table on his back. His tactile senses vanished just as he saw Dr. Scott lowering a scalpel toward the bare skin just above his hip. His head lolled a bit before his vision went black and his mind drifted away.

Scott continued to slice into Sam's skin, knowing his patient wouldn't feel the small blade. He then swiftly inserted an indwelling urethral catheter and bandaged the incision. While Sam remained oblivious, he also treated the small cuts around his wrists before thickly bandaging the area to prevent further injury from the ties. He found some redness on Sam's ankles, but the plastic had been unable to tear at his skin through the socks — Scott decided to mimic the wrist dressings on the kid's ankles as a precaution.

Once Scott started putting away some of his supplies, Max scooted Sam back into the iron kennel so he could situate him in the same position with the zip-ties. After Sam's wrist were secured again, the physician inserted a couple IVs into the back of Sam's hands — one for hydration and the other for nutrients. He didn't make any further eye contact or exchange words with Max as they finished rigging the fluid bags and left the room. Scott felt a hefty amount of shame over what had just transpired, but there was just too much at risk for him to decline any request from Lucas Pryor. At least he would be able to keep an eye on Sam's welfare during the coming weeks — it was the most he could offer the young man.

**TBC**

***** SPN SPN SPN SPN *****

**Thanks for reading, please review.**

**Next chapter takes us back to where we last left Dean…**


	5. Heading West

**Fatal Attractions**

By Ria

Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox.

Ratings/Warnings: T rating for swearing.

THANK YOU FOR REVIEWS!

Murphy9202, mb64, applepieisnice, Demon Majick, angela, that random girl, reannablue, twomoms

Special THANK YOU to Beaignu for assisting as my beta.

***** SPN SPN SPN SPN *****

Chapter Five: **Heading West**

Knightstown, IN

Dean awoke to what was quite possibly the worst hangover of his life. He worked his jaw and tongue, attempting to alleviate the cottonmouth feeling, while staring up at the water-stained ceiling. The cloud of numbness pressing down on his limbs was slowly dispersing and he rolled his head to look over at Sam's empty bed. From this angle, he could see the alarm clock displaying 1:08pm. He groaned at the pounding headache, trying to remember exactly what had happened last night. He remembered playing a few rounds of pool but what followed was nothing but an indistinguishable blur.

He sat up quickly and realized this was a horrible idea, immediately regretting the movement as his stomach rebelled. Dean threw himself toward the bathroom and barely made it over the porcelain before last night's dinner rushed out of his mouth. He heaved several more times before sitting back on the grimy ceramic floor tiles and leaning against the side of the tub, taking deep breaths while waiting for the nausea to subside.

Once he had cooled off a bit, Dean made another attempt to stand up, slowly. Although his gut was still twisting uncomfortably, he didn't feel the same urge to expel his insides. He flushed down the fowl smelling bile and made his way back to the bed. Noticing that a good fifteen minutes had passed, Dean wondered briefly where Sam had gone. He didn't see any notes on the tables tops as he looked around the room and figured his brother had just made a run for food. Despite vomiting minutes before, his stomach growled in anticipation; and Dean suddenly felt like he hadn't eaten for days. Hopefully, his brother would be back soon.

He caught a whiff of something unpleasant and glanced around the room again before pawing at his own clothes. He wrinkled his nose when he realized the mixed scent of body odor, sweat, and liquor was coming from him. A quick shower and change of clothes was definitely in order, and he decided this afternoon would probably be a good time to make a trip to the laundromat.

After about twenty minutes under the hot water, Dean emerged from the bathroom feeling clean and refreshed. He pulled the collar of the new t-shirt up from his neck and gave it a long sniff, satisfied that the scent of last night's escapades was gone. He tucked the bundle of dirty clothes into his duffle and looked around the room again. Where the Hell was Sam? It had been almost an hour since Dean woke up and that was more than enough time for a food run. He crossed over to his bed to retrieve the cell phone from his jacket.

The phone display lit up to show five missed calls from Bobby Singer. Dean rolled his eyes; was one friggin week away from the hunt too much to ask for, dammit. Opting to ignore the older hunter's calls for the time being, Dean dialed Sam and waited impatiently for his brother to pick up the line. As he paced the small motel room, he started to notice other items that were missing: Sam's coat and duffel. Voicemail picked up after a minute and Dean snapped the phone shut. He peeked through a gap in the curtains to confirm the Impala was still safely parked outside their room — it was.

Dean was just about to dial again when his phone vibrated, causing him to jump slightly before answering. "Sam?"

_"No, idgit. It's about time you picked up."_ Bobby scolded.

"Christ Bobby, what the Hell? I told you last night we were taking break and you couldn't hold off calling for even twenty-four hours." Dean snapped as another thought came to him. "Where is Sam? You sent him on a hunt, didn't you." He shouted accusingly.

_"First of all, we talked Friday; today is Sunday. And I don't have a clue where your brother is 'cause he ain't answering his phone either."_ The older hunter growled back, annoyed. _"You want some time off — I get it — but the way trouble finds you boys…"_ Bobby trailed off, not wanting piss Dean off further by admitting he had been calling about a case. He honestly hadn't thought the Winchesters could handle the downtime for a full week — well, maybe Dean could with his more licentious 'extracurricular activities', but it was hard to picture Sam going a day without doing some kind of research. Speaking of the latter,_ "Wait, Sam's gone?"_

"Yea. Wasn't here when I woke up this afternoon. Hold up… its been two days?" Dean's mind spun and for a moment, and he thought he might hurl again. A knot of worry dropped into his gut. He hadn't blacked out from drinking since high school, but he sure as shit had never lost this much time. He had a vague recollection from earlier Friday night about his brother being concerned he would drink too much. "Bobby, I gotta call you back. I'm gonna try Sam's cell again."

_"Is everything okay?"_

"Not sure yet. He might just be having a bitch fit."

_"Well, let me know what you find out. Might wanna consider microchipping the kid. Heck, I'll even pitch in on the cost."_

"Yea, thanks for the advice." Was Dean's dry reply as he hung up and tried dialing his brother again. After several rings, the call went right back to voicemail. "Hey, its me. Look, I'm not sure what happened the other night… don't remember much. If you're pissed at me, I get it. Just call or text; let me know you're okay."

Dean dropped heavily on his bed while pinching the bridge of his nose — his headache continuing to pulse since he'd woken up, and now further provoked by the stress of not knowing where Sam went. He stared down at the phone in his hand, urging it to ring when something under the other bed caught his eye. Just barely in sight, beneath the draped comforter was a rounded white object. Dean crouched down to retrieve the out of place item and pulled out one of Sam's sneakers. A strangling, sick feeling overwhelmed him as he sat back on the carpeting. During the rabbit's foot fiasco a couple weeks back, Sam had lost his other pair of shoes when the left one fell into a sewer. There was no way his brother left the room willingly without his shoes.

Now that Dean had made this discovery and was sitting on the floor, some new clues in this mystery came to light. He crawled over to the desk and picked up the slightly crumpled ten dollar bill from the small space under the furniture. At close range, multiple dark speckles on the carpet stood out boldly from the rest of the fibers. Dean raced to the bathroom and brought back damped clump of toilet paper. He scrubbed lightly at the stains and pulled back, noticing the once white material was now an incriminating shade of red.

"Son of a bitch." He growled, because someone was definitely attacked in this room and there would be Hell to pay if this blood belonged to his little brother.

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The Impala rolled over the loose gravel outside the shady bar he and Sam had visited Friday. After doing a few circles on foot around the motel and not finding any further leads, Dean had hastily packed his stuff and decided his best course of action would be to hunt down someone who might be able to fill in his memory gaps from the last couple days. At this time in the afternoon, only one other car was parked in the lot and Dean hoped the person it belonged to would have some information for him.

Dean was unable to pull the worn door open and knocked loudly. After a few minutes with no answer, he pounded harder and continued the racket until a muffled voice from within responded, "Not open on Sundays. Come back tomorrow 'round three-ish."

"Wait," Dean hollered back, "not hear to drink, just need information." Silence followed. "PLEASE! It's an emergency!" Dean waited a few minutes and let out a frustrated sigh as he headed back to the car to figure out his next move. There was a sharp clasping noise behind him and he whirled around to face the stocky bartender, recognizing him from their Friday visit.

"What sort of emergency?" He replied gruffly. "Hey, I know you. The lightweight from the other night."

Dean stared at him in disbelief. "Lightweight?"

"Yea, been a long time since we've had anyone drop after his fifth beer." The chuckle following his statement shook the heavier man's gut.

"About that," Dean started after a slight snarl, deciding to play the assumed role, "What happened after I was out? Don't really remember much."

"Well, your two pals dragged you out — said they was takin' you home — and that's the last I saw of you 'til now."

The two names suddenly came back in stark contrast to the rest of the blurry night. "Oh, right Dave and Ryan. That was actually the first time I'd met them. Haven't been able to find the tall guy I came in with the other night and was hopin' they might know where he got to. Think you could give me an address or number for them?"

"Got nothin' for you on that." The bartender replied, folding his arms and leaning into the door frame. "I ain't never seen those guys before and they weren't back last night."

Dean gaped at the older man with a look of pure confusion, "But they said they were regulars."

"Nope. I've owned this here bar over twenty years, and I've never even seen them 'round town."

Alarm bells immediately went off in Dean's head and, as if it had clued in on the conversation, Dean's phone started to ring. He glanced at the caller ID and looked backed to the bartender, excusing himself. "Sorry to bother you. This uh, might be him now. Thanks for your time."

Dean flipped open the phone while turning back to the Impala. "Bobby, did you hear from him?"

_"Not exactly. I was able to get his GPS turned on though. Signal's coming from a town called Canton in Illinois. Where you at?"_

"Not there," Dean replied grimly, "I'm a state over — Knightstown, Indiana." Dean sat behind the driver's wheel and fought the urge to put his fist through the dash. "I think we were played by these guys we met at a bar Friday. They seemed friendly enough, but I just found out their whole backstory was a sham."

_"You think they grabbed Sam and took off?"_

"I don't know man, but this whole situation just reeks of a set up. I'm gonna see if I can get any security footage from the motel — maybe I can get a clear shot of those two asshats or what they were drivin' — then I'll head over to Illinois."

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Dean made record time on the drive and was pulling into Canton just after dusk. He had swung back by the Knightstown motel just before leaving Indiana, and from the black and white footage captured by the parking lot camera, he also had a lead. Just before 3:00am, the film picked up a pale colored cargo van backing into a space right in front of their room. The van shifted slightly each time someone exited or entered, but the surveillance angle only displayed the passenger side and front, so he couldn't identify who was operating the vehicle. The vehicle pulled away with only one person in the cab area, but Dean had a feeling he knew the identity of a least one cargo passenger.

For a while, Dean just cruised the streets of Canton, hoping to run into a vehicle similar to the one incriminated by the security footage. Unfortunately, the town was so small there really wasn't much area to scour. He was just about to pass through the deserted town square for a fifth time when the expected call finally came.

"Bout time." His snippy answer was the result of a long and frustrating day.

_"Stow the attitude, boy," _Bobby growled stressfully,_ "I been workin' my ass off and it took longer than expected to get a more definite location on Sam's phone — called in a favor to a paranoid old coot who owes me a few. Should be off Main Street, right by the corner of Elm; a place called Emporium. We were also able to get the plates magnified on the video you sent me of the van: 1120BAB, Florida."_

"Thanks, Bobby. I'm like a block away. Check back with you in a bit."

Dean hit the gas hard and barely heard the older hunter say, _"You'd better," _before he had snapped the phone shut. Within a minute, he was pulling into an empty lot behind the store. He slowly coasted into a space and closed the Impala's door softly when getting out so it barely made a sound. He stuck to the shadows alongside the building until he got to the door. The old lock was easy to pick and he carefully edged the door open, Desert Eagle and flashlight up and ready as he stepped into the dark room.

He spent a moment just listening for anything to shatter the silence before moving further into the shop. Dean weaved through the display cases, checking every corner with the bright beam of his torch. As he soon found out, there really wasn't need for much caution; there was no one else in the building. He slammed his flashlight down in exasperation and the glass counter made a crackling sound as it fractured beneath the force.

An idea came to Dean as he pulled his cell phone out and flipped through the contacts. He listened intently as Sam's phone started to ring through the receiver, figuring if his brother's phone was still here, he should be able to hear it.

Dean attempted calling two more times before he made his way back through the storage room. He stepped out the rear door, phone still open and loose in his hand, finishing its last few rings. Just as he stepped onto the pavement, he heard the corresponding ringtone and prayed his mind wasn't playing tricks. A flare of hope shot through him as he hit redial and the music started again.

He dashed to his right and found the noise to be reverberating from within an industrial-sized green dumpster. "SAMMY!" He called while thrusting open the plastic black cover. The bin was almost full, but resting at the top of the mound was Sam's navy-blue duffel bag and brown coat. He pulled both items out and sat them on the ground, quickly locating Sam's phone tucked in one of the coat pockets. He stuffed the phone into his own jacket and vaulted into the dumpster without a second thought.

Dean sifted through the used packaging and folded boxes for several minutes in a panicked flurry, digging through to older trash from earlier in the week, and ignoring the foul smells of heat-baked and spoiled lunches. He took several deep breaths after his exertions and ran through a long list of curse words when his search failed to yield an over-sized, shaggy-haired little brother.

He ungracefully dropped back onto the pavement and rooted through Sam's discarded belongings for any possible clues. No results. Dean looked critically around the rest of the bare parking lot, suddenly at a loss for what to do next. He turned to the one source he could always count on for solid advise and raised the phone to his ear.

_"Dean, did you find anything?"_ Bobby's concerned voice didn't do much to settle Dean's nerves.

"His duffel and coat were in a dumpster behind the store, but there's nothing else here. No sign of anyone. Its like they just dumped his stuff and left." Dean was crestfallen by the lack of evidence. More than anything, he wanted his brother back and punishing the responsible persons was a close second on his wish list. "Please tell me you have a next move on this."

_"Frank, the guy who tracked the cell GPS, was able to pull some video from a hidden traffic cam with a time stamp early Saturday morning. We got a shot of the same cargo van pulling off Main into the lot behind the store. About fifteen minutes later, it makes a left back onto Main. Just before the van pulls out, another vehicle — sports car lookin' — pulls up along its far side and turns the opposite direction. Unfortunately, the van blocks the view of the driver and the plates, but I'm thinking there was a trade-off done in the parking lot. Frank's got a red flag alert out for the plates; if the police find the van abandoned or pull it over on violation, we'll get an immediate hit on the location." _

"That's great Bobby, but what are we supposed to do in the meantime, twiddle our thumbs?" Bobby ignored Dean's aggravated tone, easily empathizing with the emotions the younger hunter had to be feeling.

_"We don't have much of a lead at this point, but I think it's highly unlikely Sam's still in Canton. Why don't you head over this way? If the stopping point to ditch his clothes was in Illinois, its a safe bet to say they're still heading West." _Bobby paused, listening to the slightly strained breaths on the other end of the line, and attempted to reassure the younger man. _"We'll figure this out, Dean."_

"Yea… okay," Dean responded dishearteningly, "I'll be there soon."

**TBC**

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**Thanks for reading! Please review. Feedback keeps my focus and I'm always open to suggestions. **


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